


The Sharp Tongued Knight

by Ganelon8



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Parzival - Wolfram von Eschenbach, Perceval ou le Conte du Graal | Perceval the Story of the Grail - Chrétien de Troyes, Romans | Arthurian Romances - Chrétien de Troyes
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Jousting, Lots of sarcasm, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 17:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganelon8/pseuds/Ganelon8
Summary: Kay isn't known for being the most courtly of knights, but he gets the job done. There's trouble at court though, starting with the newcomer Perceval who's stirring up all sorts of quests and a fight Kay started with the noblewoman Cunneware de Lalant and the Grail Quest itself.Retelling of some events in the Perceval/Grail story from Kay's POV.





	The Sharp Tongued Knight

“There’s another knight issuing some sort of challenge in front of the castle,” said one of the gatekeepers who had run back to tell him.

“The fourth this fortnight,” Kay said with a sigh as he threw down the quill he had been writing with and stood. “Lead on, I will speak with him.”

Kay spoke a little with the guard as they walked through the halls of the castle. No one was quite sure if he was aware of the reputation he had with the servants and guards, and how they all liked him because he would argue for them despite being a noble himself. 

They walked up the wooden steps that leaned against the stone wall and all the way up, so they stood above the gate. There was a knight in golden armour — probably gilded, Kay thought — riding a black warhorse back and forth. When he saw the gatekeeper poke his head over along with a new face, the knight shouted, “Whom do I now address?”

“Sir Kay, seneschal of this castle. What have you come here for?” Kay said in a loud voice but without shouting. 

“I have come to issue my challenge,” the knight said without raising his visor.

“I could have figured that out,” Kay said under his breath, then louder he said, “What is your challenge, and who are you issuing it to?”

“I come here to challenge your king, the man who claims to be the rightful ruler of this land!” The knight held his lance up and was gesturing a bit with it. “I will only serve a man who can best me in combat, for otherwise he is unworthy of my service!” He then began to list out the other kingdoms he had been to recently, and how he had dehorsed the kings there.

Kay tuned him out to think. Two of the last three knights that had come to the gates were like this one, and the third was the Red Knight of Quinqueroy. The Red Knight had made himself an unwelcome guest by deliberately tossing wine on the queen and saying that no man there had the courage to avenge the insult. And then the damned bumpkin had come in, demanding to be knighted… Kay shook his head. “Sir Knight,” he said once it seemed the gilded knight had finished. “The king is meeting with a foreign embassy and has given the strictest orders that he is not to be disturbed.”

The gilded knight made a disdainful sound. “Let me speak with another knight, to have him back up your story.”

Kay grit his teeth. “I am a knight.”

“You are a seneschal! Your kind is untrustworthy! Let me speak with a worthy knight—”

“A worthy knight?” said a new voice that set Kay further on edge. He turned to see the champion, Lancelot, finish climbing the stairs up. He was in full armour but for the helmet, which he carried under an arm.

“He wasn’t asking for you in particular, you know,” Kay said.

Lancelot sniffed and stared down his nose at the seneschal. “Don’t be impertinent.” 

Kay’s fingers itched to hit him. 

Standing next to Lancelot, Kay knew there was no question of who looked more like a ‘worthy knight’. The champion stood taller and more heavily muscled, to say nothing of his armour. Lancelot’s hair was short and dark, with a tousled look. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but he looked solid and strong. Kay wasn’t short or weak, but he had ink on his fingers and was pale from the time spent in the castle. He was wearing a plain robe, tunic, and hose, though did have his sword at his side. His hair was dark blonde and needed a trimming, and he heard heard many noblewomen say he was fair enough to look on… if only he never opened his mouth.

“Sir Knight, whom do I address?” the gilded knight said, having seen a new person atop the wall. The champion was rather hard to miss with the afternoon sun reflecting off his well-polished armour. 

“I am Sir Lancelot, of King Arthur’s Court and the Round Table,” he said with a flourish.

“A worthy knight indeed…! I should fight you willingly, good sir, and if I am vanquished, I would join your order!” the gilded knight said.

“Certainly,” Lancelot said with a nod. “I shall ready my horse and be with you immediately.” He turned and nearly crashed into Kay, who avoided the bruises by jumping back. 

“You’d better show more grace than that on the field,” Kay said with a scowl. 

“You won’t be in my way on the field,” Lancelot said with another sniff directed the seneschal’s way. He was the first down the stairs, with Kay following after exchanging a few words with the gatekeepers. “What did you say to the knight out there?”

“I just asked what he was here for, and told him the king was busy.”

“Then why did he get sound so angry?”

Kay shrugged. “He must be warm wearing all that armour in direct sunlight.”

At the bottom of the steps, Lancelot moved to the side to let the seneschal step down, then began to walk with him further into the courtyard. “Everyone knows how sharp your tongue is. You would do better not to antagonize guests at your own king’s gate.”

He clenched his fists and let out a long breath. “I fail to see how that is a valid reason for you to begin antagonizing me.”

“If it were anyone but you, I would call you out for that,” Lancelot said.

“Why not? Scared I wouldn’t show? Scared I would beat you?” Kay knew he shouldn’t get angry, but that was only a small part of his brain and the rest of him was no longer thinking. Other people in the courtyard had stopped what they were doing and were looking over since he had begun to raise his voice.

“How dare you question my courage, when yours is what is lacking?” 

Kay opened his mouth again, but a third voice said, “What is going on here?”

“Nothing to concern you, Sir Bedivere,” Lancelot said, and bid farewell to the third knight then walked off to find the stables.

“Kay, let’s go somewhere we can talk,” Bedivere said in a quiet voice. He was a large man with dull brown hair and beard. He was dressed for riding, and from the smell of horse and sweat he had just returned. 

Kay nodded, feeling all the anger drain out of him to be replaced with nothing but numbness. He walked beside Bedivere into the castle, and from there to a room set with table, chairs, hearth, and some wine in a cabinet. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Bedivere said as he opened the cabinet.

“Yes, but just a glass,” Kay said as he fell into one of the chairs. His friend poured one for each of them and gave one to Kay before sitting down at the table with him. 

“What happened?” Bedivere said.

“I got angry again,” the seneschal said as he took a gulp. He looked up, but it didn’t seem that Bedivere was going to say anything until he had explained himself. Kay sighed and leaned forward. “I’ve been in a foul mood these past weeks. Ever since that damned Red Knight…” He shook his head. “Everyone’s been blaming me for that Welshman running off instead of staying here to be knighted, and I suppose it is my fault. I’m damned tired of being treated like a servant and having everyone — even strangers at the gate! — hate me for my position. Damn them all.”

“Your treatment is unfair, but you should defend yourself in a way that doesn’t let them feel justified for what they do,” Bedivere said. 

“I wouldn’t know what else to do. Words seem better than a blade, and I wouldn’t want to injure anyone because of this all,” Kay said.

“But many want to injure you for your words,” Bedivere said, and paused but the other knight did not respond. “Have you tried speaking with the king about this?”

“I would be ashamed if he felt the need to tell everyone to mind their words, as if I were a child,” the seneschal said.

“He’s you foster brother! He clearly feels affection for you, but since you’re always the one with the last word, you’re the one he must reprimand.”

“I’m older than him, you know. He’s gotten so mature, whereas I…” Kay shook his head and took a final sip of the wine then set down the empty glass. “It’s gotten worse since the Welshman defeated the Red Knight. Bedivere, tell me where I went wrong.”

The other knight was quiet a moment as he thought. “A young man came into the king’s hall demanding to be knighted while we were trying to deal with the Red Knight of Quinqueroy, who had purposefully poured wine on the queen. You got angry at this youth on the king’s behalf, and told him to mind his manners.”

“Well, no one else was doing anything about him,” Kay said in a low voice.

“Then Lady Cunneware de Lalant laughs, which she was apparently only to do when she met the man who was to be the greatest knight, who turned out to be this young man. A jester then begins to ridicule you as well.”

“He was—”

“He was trying to provoke you,” Bedivere said over whatever the seneschal was about to say. “And he succeeded. I know you were angry, and I know he was goading you on, but you should not have slapped Lady de Lalant.”

Kay looked down.

“Then, this young man leaves and defeats the Red Knight, taking his red armour for himself as you had sarcastically suggested. From what we can hear, he then begins to act as though he were a knight, defeating recreant knights and sending them back here to swear loyalty to the queen and the woman you hit.”

“I know I was wrong for hitting Lady de Lalant,” Kay said.

“And the young man was wrong for riding his horse into the castle and right up to the king, speaking with him too familiarly, and slapping him with his horse’s tail,” Bedivere said.

That got a laugh from Kay. “There are two slaps to be avenged, it seems.”

“Your behavior was unchivalrous, which is what upset everyone. It was rather badly done, Kay,” Bedivere said. “You need to master your reactions when someone insults you.”

“I know I shouldn’t have—”

“You need to get ahold of your temper.”

Kay nodded, rather than argue that he had tried to not lash out time and again since he was a young man and that his temper always got the upper hand in the end. “I understand.” He was quiet for a moment then said, “We have known each other many years, have we not?”

“We have,” Bedivere said. “Before either of us knew how to ride a horse.”

“You have always been a friend to me, and I’ve never thanked you for that,” Kay said.

The other knight shrugged and tried not to smile. They talked for a time longer before Kay said he had to return to his duty before someone came looking for him with a problem.

“Organizing storage, housing guests, managing feasts, do you miss the life of a knight between it all?” Bedivere said.

“I wasn’t a knight for very long before I became a seneschal. Besides, I’m still a knight, aren’t I?” Kay stood with a crooked grin. He passed only a pair of maids in the halls. Even this dimly lit stretch was lined with tapestries, stories of old legend given life with bright colors. 

He was caught by a few newly made knights just in time to be notified that the fight between Sir Lancelot and the mysterious gilded knight was about to begin. Having been found, Kay had no choice but to walk with the young men to the castle’s front. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen scowling, so he put on a neutral, if not pleased, face.

There was a fanfare from atop the wall and nearly every head turned to see the king standing up there with his wife and the gatekeepers. The king gave a wave and everyone cheered, including Lancelot, who had ridden over. The champion’s visor was raised, and from the look on his face as he shouted with the rest of them, there was nothing he’d rather be doing in the world other than what he was at that moment. He must have gotten a favor before taking to the field, because he had a silk cloth which he raised and kissed. The queen nodded and waved, her mouth open as though she were speaking but no words were heard over the cheer.

It really was irrational how much the royal couple favored that French knight. He was certainly good, but so were Bedivere, Gawain, and many others. The king and Lancelot had extremely dissimilar personalities, so their friendship, which accounted for some of the favor but not all, was in itself under question. Perhaps it was the zeal that he had for chivalry, and how he seemed to have no life outside his duties as a knight and the royal couple.

It was only another moment or two until the two knights rode at each other. Both had fine horses and the men themselves looked of a size, so if the golden knight’s skill proved equal to his demeanor, he might give the champion something of a fight. It almost looked like the stranger’s blow would be truer than the champion’s, though it may have been Kay’s perverse hope that Lancelot would be dehorsed, even though it would dishonour his kingdom. The hooves rumbled closer and the armour clanked and glinted, and it was only for a second that the wood shattered and flew as did the body of the gilded knight, up and out of his saddle to tumble to the ground.  
The man seemed dazed as the crowd went mad. The champion dismounted, and Kay didn’t hear what was said, but the golden knight had surely accepted the terms of surrender, because Lancelot helped him to his feet. 

So as to stand out less, Kay clapped a few times with the rest of them. He was among the first to disperse, and walked as fast as he could without jogging back to the castle where he still had work waiting for him. His office seemed dark despite the candles, though that was from just being out in the sun.  
One thing lead to the next and he was kept busy through his own searching and the intervention of others. It was the next day before he went to speak to Lady Cunneware de Lalant. She was one of the queen’s ladies, so he went to ask an audience with her through Queen Guinevere, who was found in the garden surrounded by vines that stretched over old stone structures, already painted with moss. 

“Of course I shall grant you a chance to speak with her, Sir Kay,” the queen said with a smile. “I want this bad blood between the two of you settled, no matter how it began.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Kay said with a bow.

“Sit with me for a moment,” Guinevere said. “Kay, is everything alright?”

“Why should it not be?” he said and shifted on the bench.

She looked at him for a moment, and he did his best to flatten his frown into a grin. 

“Your Majesty, I appreciate the sentiment, but aren’t there more pressing matters for you to be concerned with than your seneschal’s lack of manners?” Kay said. 

“Like matters of state, and such? Your behavior does reflect upon the country, and you are often asked to represent my husband and myself.” Guinevere raised an eyebrow.

He did admire the queen. She was far more politically minded than her husband, and often had uncanny insights into a person. Kay was over ten years her senior, but he had the social grace of a bratty child while she seemed born to rule. He really didn’t feel like having this conversation with anyone.

“My behavior, the king’s, your own, the champion’s… Surely some need to be more perfect in appearance than my own?” Kay met and held her gaze. “Sir Lancelot is, of course, above reproach. He is, without a doubt, the finest knight, save Sir Gawain. I’m sure he would never do something so base as get angry.”

She sucked in her cheeks and grew still, but kept glaring at him. “Sir Kay, I do believe you are being impertinent.”

“You know, that’s exactly what Sir Lancelot said to me the other day.”

If Guinevere were any other person, she might have hit him for that. Her anger did flare a moment in her eyes and nostrils.

He looked down. “That was too far.”

“When you are not being rude, you are the most amiable of men. Do try being kind more often,” Guinevere said. “I’m sure giving a heartfelt apology to Lady de Lalant will be a good place for you to begin practicing.”

He found himself sitting across from Cunneware de Lalant not long later. She was at the head of the table, and Kay sat to her left. They both had a drink and he was glad of that, not because he was thirsty, but because it gave him something to do with his hands. 

They sat staring at each other for a long moment. Cunneware de Lalant was a tall woman, with high cheekbones and eyebrows that arched almost like a curving bough. She wore dark colors, and her hair was a dark brown, so she looked almost in mourning though her husband had died years ago and she had never seemed too fond of him. The title was all her own, so even in her early thirties she had not remarried, though not due to lack of offers. Maybe she was waiting for the ‘greatest knight’, the one who would make her laugh. If she was in love with the damned youth, then no wonder she was angry at Kay. But she hardly seemed the type to fall in love at the first meeting. Perhaps she just hated Kay, and if that were the case her thinking wouldn’t be too far from what was going through the minds of many others in the court.  
Kay wondered what she was thinking about.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” he said.

“Going to the queen was a wise choice. You knew I wouldn’t be able to turn you down after that,” Cunneware said with a frown. 

Kay shrugged. “I do what I can with my meager influence. I—” He cut himself off, but did not swear. “I didn’t mean to be sarcastic now. I had meant to apologise.”

“Apologise?” Her eyebrows rose even further.

“I shouldn’t have hit you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Cunneware said. 

He picked up his cup and turned it over in his hands, then set it down and looked her in the eyes. “I am sorry.”

Her brown eyes stared at him for a long time without blinking, but she finally spoke, her voice as even as ever. “So what now? Am I simply meant to forgive you? Am I meant to be grateful that the proud Sir Kay would stoop to offering an apology?”

Kay sat back as if he had been the one slapped. “No, I didn’t mean anything like that!” 

“What did you mean? Don’t tell me that you have a conscience, and that you were trying to ease it. Someone as sharp as you isn’t meant to have such weakness,” Cunneware said.

“What I did was wrong and I needed to apologise! I’m not trying to win your favor, or look good, or… Dammit!” Kay stood, slamming a hand to the table as he did. “Is it so hard to believe that I felt bad?!”

“Yes,” she said, without any humor in her voice. She too stood and took a step closer to him. She pulled her arm back and, putting her hips into it, she slapped him.  
His head spun to the side even as his face stung. She had a remarkably good arm, as well as good force behind it. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking about that all in one rush even as he muttered a curse under his breath. 

“I wish I could call you out. I wish that I weren’t some silly noblewoman, meant only to sew and give birth. If I were a knight, I wouldn’t get the disrespect that I do. I see no need to take it from you, or any other man, so be warned. I will hit harder next time,” Cunneware said. Her eyes shone, but rather than tears it looked more like it was from elation.

“Even if you were a knight, and you did call a man out, he wouldn’t have to accept if he thought fighting you would sully his honor. That damned Lancelot is always so superior, and I have the disapproval and disrespect of the court more than you ever will. Each time, I too hit harder, though with words rather than a hand,” Kay said. He was a bit shaken by how close her sentiments were to his own feelings. 

Cunneware looked at him a long moment, then grinned. That shook him more than anything he had seen or heard from her yet. She was always solemn and contained, and the only time he had ever seen her laugh or even smile was when she met the young Welshman. She shook her head but was still smiling. 

“What is it?” Kay said, smiling with her.

“You’re making me feel bad for you now,” she said.

“Then my plan has worked beautifully!”

Her grin widened. “I feel wonderful,” Cunneware said, almost laughing. “Ever since that young man showed up…” She did laugh, a low, rich sound, sweet like honey and warm like wine. “Thank you, Sir Kay.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” he said.

“You didn’t get upset when I hit you.”

“That’s because it hurt a lot, and I was rather hoping not to get hit again,” Kay said with a grin. 

Cunneware was still smiling. “This is as good as it gets then.”

“I guess so. We both go our bitter way and exchange snide comments about the rest of the court whenever we can stand to be in one another’s presence,” Kay said.  
They ended up sitting down together again, but this time angled their chairs to face the other and the barbed comments were equally exchanged and followed with laughter. She asked about when he was young and the adventures that he and the then-uncrowned king had gone on, and about the battles he had fought in, and what he thought of certain members of the court. He asked her about what she would wish to do if she had a choice, and about her husband who she had never loved and who had hurt her, and what she thought of various policies and people they met every day.

She had just made him laugh again, when he caught the colors of the sky outside the open window from the side of his eye. Kay jumped to his feet. “I have been enjoying myself so much that I have utterly forgotten about my duties for the evening. I—”

“No, no, don’t stand on ceremony now! If you don’t wish to be late, head off. We’ll find each other again before too long,” Cunneware said.

He nodded, bid farewell, and ran down the halls, only stopping when he nearly ran into one of the stewards. 

“Sir Kay,” the man said, “Is something the matter?”

“Sorry Adam, but I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, and—”

“There’s nothing to worry about, sir,” the steward said. “Mister Beecham’s gotten everything started for the feast.”

“Has he?” Kay said, somewhat surprised.

“We’ve all worked with you enough years to survive without you for a day, if you’ll beg my pardon, Sir Kay,” he said with a bob that didn’t hide his grin.  
“And what I get for all those years is insolence! Off with you, I’ll see if I can’t help Beecham for a change,” Kay said with a smirk as he too took off down the hall.  
The evening went well, and the credit all went to the servants who could carry everything out perfectly well without him. Kay would never admit that some part of him was touched by that, and pleased and proud to be a part of that all at once. 

That evening he went to speak with the king and queen. They were in one of their private chambers with a fire so large in the hearth that it seemed as though midwinter had arrived that night. The king was sitting with all his attention on some old manuscript that he held, while the queen sat in the chair across from him with Lancelot in the seat next to her, speaking about something in low voices. Kay’s left eyebrow gave a slight twitch when he saw the champion, but he didn’t say anything since the king had seen him and stood.

“Kay,” Arthur said with a smile, “I am glad to see you.”

“And I you,” he said. Looking at his foster brother, Kay was hit with a sudden nostalgia. He remembered when he had been the taller of the two. Many people had thought Arthur was the natural son of Kay’s father, and so in Kay’s younger mind it fell to reason that he must be the unnatural son.

It had made sense. That was why everyone was always criticizing him and he was always getting in trouble for talking too much, talking back, and having his own opinions that he was forever telling to adults who knew better. It stood to reason that the unnatural son was a liar and a failure. 

“Tell me how your talk with Cunneware de Lalant went, and then I shall let you two discuss private matters on your own,” Guinevere said. Lancelot looked as though he were going to add something but she reached over and set a hand on his arm, and he closed his mouth instantly. 

“She and I have reached… well, more than an understanding. I have already offered her my apologies. Needless to say, such behavior on my part will never happen again,” Kay said. 

“She forgave you, just like that? She ought to have made you do some impossible deed,” Lancelot said. 

“I don’t think that would be necessary at all,” Guinevere said with a little glare at the knight. 

“Not all of us are so keen to prove that we’re the finest of knights. I’m well enough satisfied with her accepting my apology,” Kay said. He grimaced at the champion.

“Would you two mind terribly if I asked to speak with Kay on his own?” Arthur said.

“Lancelot, would you walk with me?” The queen offered him her arm.

“I can’t stand him,” Kay said once the door was shut.

“You do little to hide your opinion where he’s concerned,” Arthur said.

“He feels precisely the same, and that’s hardly a secret either,” the seneschal said.

“Sit down! Will you take a cup of wine?”

After accepting the goblet, Kay took a sip. “Is there something you wished to speak with me about?”

“Is it so wrong for me to wish to speak to my brother?”

“When you put it that way, I’d say not.” Kay raised his cup as if in toast. His foster brother smiled. It was remarkable how Arthur still thought of him as a true brother. Back when Kay had first been knighted his supposed half brother had brought him a legendary sword in place of his own, it would have been easy to claim that he had been the one to draw it. He nearly had, too. Lied, that is. 

Who would they have believed, a knighted nobleman’s son or an illegitimate squire? 

Kay had lied at first, of course, but the younger man hadn’t seemed to realize what the sword was, because he had just kept smiling at Kay. There was no way he could ever hurt the kid who had looked up to him and who had that much faith in him.

“I am glad you spoke with Lady de Lalant,” Arthur said.

“But you wish I hadn’t chased away that kid who wanted to be a knight, which is exactly what everyone can’t help but tell me every day.” 

“I don’t like seeing you upset.”

“As the older of the two, shouldn’t I be the one worrying about you?”

“It’s no weakness to accept help every now and then.”

“I can deal with the trouble I’ve caused. I don’t need you to save me from it.” Kay grinned, trying to soften his bitterness, but some of it must have come through. “I think that’s enough of my troubles. Tell me, how have you been?”

They talked a while longer, until it grew late enough that both were tired. The seasons slowly cycled through, and autumn crystallized over in ice and snow. Cunneware de Lalant received many knights sent to her from the mysterious Welshman, who was now being called ‘the Red Knight’. By all events, his strength and valor seemed prodigious. Many people berated Kay and were angry with him, saying that he had chased off this champion with his rudeness. With every returned knight, the jester laughed harder, and said that it was only a matter of time before the Red Knight defeated Kay and shattered his arm. After every new knight was sent to her, Cunneware made them swear to the queen instead, and every evening that one arrived she spoke with Kay. Even many nights when there were no new arrivals she spoke with him. No one seemed to understand their friendship, and most chose to ignore it. Kay had many courtiers tell him off for chasing after a widow so well-endowed in more ways than one. 

“No one truly believes that we can stand one another,” Kay said. 

“Today I had another well-meaning matron tell me that you were only after my fortune and title,” Cunneware said with a frown. 

“If you do stay away, they’ll leave you alone. They all see you as the victim, you know.”

She laughed at that, and continued to see him.

It snowed long into the spring, and it was a white Lent when the king said that he himself would take his knights and travel, to seek out the Red Knight. It wasn’t so simple as a single man travelling, and Kay organised everything. Cunneware laughed when he told her what the king expected when staying in the woods, but wished him well. About a week after setting off, the group (whose numbers neared one hundred) camped overnight in a bare forest frozen that sparkling in the sunset.  
Gawain had been absent for a long while, but he had returned in time to set off on the hunt for the Red Knight. He was the eldest, and in all appearances the favorite, of the king’s nephews. He was handsome, strong, chivalrous, and courtly, everything that a knight ought to be.

That night, the king talked with many knights about their recent adventures. Kay listened to what Gawain said. He always had a story, and he laughed at how they had embarrassed him at times. Unlike some other knights, Gawain wasn’t making them up, at least where his deeds of adventuring were concerned. He certainly had exaggerated some of the bits involving enchantresses and damsels. It seemed unlikely that every one of them had fancied him. The seneschal figured that he was trying to keep up his hard-earned appearance of a ladies’ man.

The next morning Kay awoke at sunup to begin getting everything ready for later, when the king and the rest of the court would rise.  
The morning would have been very mundane if a squire had not come running out of the woods, his back wet with snow. “Sir Kay!!” he said, running straight for him upon seeing him. The young man wore leather armour, with an empty sheath at his side. If he had been out dressed like that, he must have had a horse with him. From the look of his back, he had fallen.

Kay suppressed a sigh. “What is it?”

“I was out riding this morning, a-and I found him!”

“Found who?”

“The Red Knight!!”

“Where?”

“Not far out in the woods, I can show you! I rode at him to bring him here with my sword drawn, but — I swear he didn’t even look at me — he dehorsed me and I ran back here to tell you!!” The young man was breathless and Kay would’ve sworn his eyes were sparkling at the prospect of seeing a fight. 

This time Kay did sigh. “You’re lucky I’ve already got my armour on, so we don’t need to go fetch Sir Gawain or Sir Lancelot. I swear, the champion sleeps in armour. Tell me where the Red Knight is, and I’ll go on my own. More than one person might scare him off, if he’s even still there.”

The squire and one of his fellows quickly had Kay’s horse saddled for him and had grabbed a lance for him. He wouldn’t need a sword other than the one he already wore, but if he could help it he wouldn’t need any sort of weapon. The young man told him where in the woods he had come across the Red Knight.  
“If I’m not back within the hour,” Kay said to the squires, “Tell the king everything you told me.” He then spurred his horse and rode off in the direction that the young man had indicated. The top of the snow had crusted over with ice, and crunched like glass when the hooves struck through it. 

Would it be the same ignorant fool who had so rudely entered the court that he would meet, or would the Welshman have become as religious and pompous as Lancelot? Kay gritted his teeth. The cold had already bled into his armour and every breath he took was dry and scraped his throat. 

Exactly where the young man had said he would be, Kay found the Red Knight. The knight sat on his horse, sword and lances within reach. The visor was pulled down over his face. The snow was scuffed on the ground, probably where the squire fallen. There were also a few drops of blood, which stood out against the white like wine on a sheet. There hadn’t looked as though there were any cuts on the squire, but Kay frowned as he felt rage crash into his chest.

“That was a boy you attacked! He’s not much younger than you, and he wasn’t wearing proper armour. You could have killed him,” Kay said.

There was a pause and the Red Knight said nothing.

“What, you don’t care to cross words with a seneschal? Or have you heard the brave champion say he would never fight me, so you can do nothing but the same?”  
The knight was as still as the trees, which held their positions since no wind danced through the icy and bare branches.

Kay felt sick to his stomach even as his voice grew louder and hoarse. “Or are you so pure that you will not even speak with someone so below you? What, are you afraid that my poisonous words will burn through your bloody armour? Fear not, for Sir Lancelot and many others swear that I would be far too easy to best in any match!”  
The Red Knight seemed to shift a little. It may have been only imaginary, but his fingers settled a fraction further away from his weapons. 

“Damn this, I don’t need to suffer this from you!! Every day, it’s the same at court! When I’m not being ignored, I’m being mocked!! Damn you, you’re no better than me!!” By then Kay was shouting, and even as his fury made him shake and dashed away his thoughts. His eyes grew hot which only made him angrier. “You’re from Wales, my own homeland, which the court thinks is inferior to France. Why do we not get along?”

The Red Knight did not answer.

“You cursed wretch, why will you not say anything?!” Kay was already reaching for his sword as he grit his teeth.

There was a snap from off in the woods, as the weight of the snow and ice brought down a branch.

“Damn you, speak!!”

Something like a sigh escaped the helmet.

Kay rode right at the Red Knight, a wordless cry tearing from his throat. His lance was lowered and he could hear his own heartbeat louder than the hoofbeats and his scream. Somehow the knight was faster, and somehow he moved with the seneschal’s blow to deflect much of the force, and somehow, despite him being stationary, he got an impossible amount of force behind the blow.

Something cracked even as Kay realized he was completely in the air. He was jarred and a bright flash of pain filled his mind and he fainted.

His mind came back to him slowly. First he was aware of the pain all along his right side. Something was put to his lips, and he was told to drink. As he did he realized he was parched. It was dark where he was, that much he was sure of. It slowly came into focus, and he saw his foster brother standing over him, looking more worried than he had in years. There were some doctors, too, but they seemed to be busy.

“Arthur,” Kay said, only realizing he was slurring after he tried to say the name a second time and it came out just as tired and rough.

“It’s alright, Kay. Just rest.”

“What’s happened?”

“The squires who had told you the Red Knight’s whereabouts came to us when you didn’t return. A good thing, too. We found your horse but not you until later, and you were lying in the snow and had lost a lot of blood. They weren’t sure if you’d make it. Your arm and collarbone were broken, but have been set,” the king said. He swallowed and tried for a smile. “You’ll be alright.”

Kay nodded, since he didn’t feel up for saying anything.

“I sent Gawain out after the Red Knight. I’ll be sure to voice my displeasure as to his treatment of you.”

“I tired him out just for Gawain,” Kay said and his attempted laugh ended with a wheeze. He sank further into the pillows.

Arthur’s obligatory smile looked close to a frown. “Don’t make yourself worse. Just get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Kay mumbled his thanks as he felt sleep draw itself over him like a quilt once more. 

When next he awoke, he was unsure of the hour. At first he thought he was alone, but was soon aware that there was someone near the bed he lay on. Kay turned his head to the side and saw Gawain kneeling, his hands clasped before him and his head bent forward. His eyes were closed but his cheeks had a slight flush. The seneschal must have made some noise as he moved, because the knight looked up.

“Do you need something to drink?” Gawain said and stood. He was unarmoured, instead dressed fine enough for court. 

Kay nodded, and the knight fetched him something. He helped Kay sit up and drink it without spilling, and he thanked Gawain.

“Where is the Red Knight?” Kay said.

“His name is Sir Perceval,” Gawain said. He sat on the edge of the bed and smiled gently, which only brightened his handsome features. “I thought it might be best to wait and speak with him, so I did. He eventually broke his meditation, and we spoke. He had been thinking of the blush on his lady-love’s cheek. You must understand, he was so far gone in his contemplation, he reacted instinctively when he attacked you and the squire.”

Kay took another slow drink before setting that aside. “He was meditating?”

“Yes. He asked me if I knew where you were, and I told him the two of you had fought already and he remembered none of it.”

“Nothing?” His one unbroken hand grew tight in the blankets. “Damn it all. He didn’t hear a word I had said! I fear I am as stupid as everyone says.”

“You certainly are not! You are a thousand times cleverer than I,” Gawain said. “He does pass along an apology for how hard he struck.”

Kay did not give in to his sarcastic instinct.

“We talked for a little, and when we introduced ourselves we were both very glad to make the acquaintance of the other. I find that I greatly admire Sir Perceval, and that he is very handsome.” The knight dropped his gaze. Kay could tell that he was trying not to smile.

“You two get along?”

“He’s married.” The knight’s gaze cut over to the wounded man, unblinking. “He’s married, and I can swear that from what he said of her, he was in love with her. He’ll be staying at court for a time to rest, before continuing on his quest.” 

“Great.” Kay let his eyelids drop closed. “Why do I feel like every single newcomer knight becomes fast friends with you, and hates me?”

“Sir Perceval doesn’t hate you! He just didn’t think you ought to have hit Lady de Lalant.”

“That’s her business and mine, which we’ve already resolved, thank you.”

“Do you have a secret engagement, then?”

Kay’s eyes tore open to glare at the knight. “What?”

“I thought you might be in love with her,” Gawain said and grinned.

“Are you mad? I’ve got the coldest heart of any man!”

“You’ve got resolve, but coldness…” The knight turned away and lost his smile. “I would not say that you are a cold man at all. Now,” he turned back to the seneschal. “Shall I fetch my uncle? I am sure he would wish to see that you are awake now.”

“You may as well. Just keep your damned Sir Perceval away from me, at least until I’m standing again.”

They all wasted no time in returning to court since the Red Knight had been found. Sir Perceval, from what Kay heard, was every hair the perfect knight. He was handsome, strong, chivalrous, courtly, mannerly, just, and just about every other positive attribute that could be brought to mind. Bedivere said that the knight had a certain amount of humility, though, and moments of innocence reserved usually for children. Kay wondered privately what Lancelot thought of the newcomer, who seemed more popular than the champion. Once they had returned to the castle, it seemed that almost immediately that Sir Perceval was recalled on some sort of quest. A boar-headed woman or some other such nonsense had come, saying that he was cursed for nearly saving the Grail King and then failing to ask a question. Within the week, the court was emptied of knights. 

Finally, with the masses gone, everything slowed down for the seneschal. His work had not stopped for his injury and so he had not either, though only having a left arm that worked made it somewhat difficult. As the snow dripped away to reveal new plants as soft and delicate as needlepoint, Kay once again spent time with Cunneware.  
She treated him somewhat differently than she had before his injury, but he couldn’t quite place how. One evening, as he sat talking with her as had become their habit, he called in his reserves of courage and said, “Cunneware, are you in love with Sir Perceval?”

“Why do you ask me that?” She looked right at him when she said that. Her brow creased, and her red mouth was left slightly open as her brown eyes stared at him with shock, and something else Kay couldn’t identify.

He set his mouth into a tense line, and kept ahold of her gaze with his. “You should know that he is married.”

“So is more than half the court,” Cunneware said. She had regained control over her face again, and she raised an eyebrow as if daring Kay to joke with her.

“Yet neither of us are.” He hadn’t planned to say that. He never planned anything around her, and if he did he was sure to forget about it a few minutes in her company.  
“I had been married, and it was far from what a maiden would expect. Now I am a widow, and if I marry again, it would be for love.”

Kay almost bit his lip as he felt something tighten in his chest. “I, too, would only marry for love.” 

“But wouldn’t your cold heart get in the way of romance?” Cunneware’s dark lips smiled, but there was something very somber in her eyes.

“It would, and did, for a very long time.” Kay was quiet and dropped his eyes to look at his hands, clasped in his lap. “But it seems it was not as cold as I thought.” He looked up.

Now she raised both of her eyebrows. Kay waited for her to say something, anything, but she did not.

“Cunneware,” he said, standing and quickly dropping to his knees before her. “You have no reason to like me, let alone love me. I find myself… ambushed by this feeling. I love you.” Kay didn’t care that his eyes had gotten wet, only that she listened. And she did. She was looking down at him, eyes open as far as they could be. “I love you, and I cannot picture the rest of my life without you there. Will you marry me?”

She looked at him for a moment longer, then began to cry. It wasn’t ladylike drops that fell, but huge sobs like when a fellow was lost in battle.  
“I’m sorry,” Kay said, jumping to his feet. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to upset—”

“Kay, don’t go,” Cunneware said, looking at him with watery eyes as she wiped her cheeks and nose with a silk sleeve. With her other hand, she grasped his uninjured left hand. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I’ve never been happy enough to cry before.”

He knelt again, smiling and feeling a bubble of laughter creep up his throat. “Same for me, but I’ll start to cry any minute now.”

“Before you do, kiss me,” Cunneware said, and he did.

**Author's Note:**

> I took the name Cunneware de Lalant from Wolfram's Parzival, since she isn't named in Chrétien's version of the work. The rest of the inspiration comes mostly from Chrétien's Perceval!


End file.
